


Dead Boys Don't Grow Up

by aye_of_newt



Series: Vague AU [5]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: (obviously I'm sure), Angst, Brief discussion of mental hospitals, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Gen, I know everything is inaccurate I'm sorry, No Incest, No Sex, Not Beta Read, Pre-Canon, can stand alone, does character death count for Ben?, extremely brief allusions to domestic violence/sexual violence, idk that's who dies, it's for the plot, mostly aftermath of violence, no, rating just to be safe honestly, with tiny reference to canon at the end, you don't have to read the whole Vague AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 14:30:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19086958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aye_of_newt/pseuds/aye_of_newt
Summary: In an almost embarrassing fulfillment of his father’s threats, Ben didn’t last one day on his own. Having left the Academy just over eighteen hours ago....Ben was walking down an alley at a very inadvisable hour of night, wondering why he hadn’t thought to at least try to contact Diego or someone first, instead of charging off in an impulsive and reckless huff— two things that Ben never was.But, he reminded himself, that was the whole point to leaving the Academy. To not be like the Ben that followed Da— Reginald’s orders silently. I am not going to be a weapon anymore, he told himself.I am not a weapon anymore.So intent was Ben’s concentration on his new mantra that he failed to notice the figures drawing up behind him.______Ben dies.And then he comes back.





	Dead Boys Don't Grow Up

**Author's Note:**

> You don't have to read the rest of the series to understand this. The Vague AU is published out of order, as I think of things.  
> If you're curious:  
> The Vague AU (generally) follows canon except :  
> 1) Vanya doesn't destroy the house and  
> 2) they save the world without becoming kids.  
> +additional backstory  
> I may write the story of how the apocalypse didn't happen at a later date but for right now just assume that it was through the healing power of ACTUALLY TALKING ABOUT OUR FEELINGS. So now all the Hargreeves live together again and are working on learning how to be functioning humans/helping Vanya figure out her powers.

 

If it wasn’t so tragic, it would have been funny. And if that didn’t sum up the life of any of the Hargreeves, what did?  
In an almost embarrassing fulfillment of his father’s threats, Ben didn’t last one day on his own. Having left the Academy just over eighteen hours ago, having finally refused to use his powers to kill another (albeit not entirely innocent) person, Ben was walking down an alley at a very inadvisable hour of night, wondering why he hadn’t thought to at least try to contact Diego or _someone_ first, instead of charging off in an impulsive and reckless huff— two things that Ben never was.

 _But_ , he reminded himself, _that was the whole point to leaving the Academy. To not be like the Ben that followed Da— Reginald’s orders silently. I am not going to be a weapon anymore,_ he told himself. 

_I am not a weapon anymore._

So intent was Ben’s concentration on his new mantra that he failed to notice the figures drawing up behind him. The hand fell on his shoulder without warning and Ben felt the blade at the side of his neck with some shock. No one had snuck up him in years. Though to be fair, he realized somewhat dully, he usually had a lookout.

“Turn around, slowly.” The voice commanded him and Ben complied, sizing his attackers up as he was pushed back against the wall, the bricks digging awkwardly into his back. There were two of them and by the looks of it, they were rather inexperienced. _God, Diego would never let me live this down,_ Ben thought, his embarrassment deepening. He wasn’t afraid, Ben had been facing bigger baddies that the two idiots in the alley since he was twelve.

“Give us your wallet, now,” The one with the knife demanded, dropping his blade down to Ben’s stomach, pressing it in just slightly in intimidation.  
Ben rolled his eyes.

“Don’t you realize who you’re trying to mug right now?” he asked, giving them a long-suffering look.

The one with the knife didn’t look amused, “You better watch what you’re talking about you little punk, I—”

“Hey, Jake, wait,” his backup said suddenly. His eyes had gone wide. “It’s one of those Umbrella freaks!”

For a moment, the looks of fear on their faces filled Ben with satisfaction. They were about to be taught a very valuable lesson about messing with supposedly vulnerable kids. He reached for his power, and froze. The two men, hardly more than teenagers really, where staring at him in terror. And wasn’t that the whole reason he was leaving? Because he didn’t want to be a monster anymore? He had always told himself that it was Reginald that made him kill people, that Ben was an innocent weapon. If he attacked these kids, wouldn’t that make him just as bad? Wouldn’t it make him a real—

His last thought was cut off, the conclusion unformed as he let out a wet noise of surprise. In his distraction, his attacker with the knife had recovered first. Still in terror, they ran.

They were gone almost before Ben was.

 

***

Dying was different from how he imagined. There was no light, but there was also no darkness. No warmth or cold. No feeling nor numbness. Only an aching absence of anything, suspended forever. After, he would wonder how he could remember it when he didn’t have a mind.

There had been no before and there was no now, only the moment ever renewing. There was no Ben, just a imprint of energy suspended. Finally, from the silence came a noise, distant but huge in its significance when it was all that there was.

The steady thrum was diluted as if underwater, somewhere very far away where there was Existence. The energy that was-but-was-not Ben focused on it, a Something in a vast sea of Nothingness. The sound grew louder, feeling familiar, although the Energy could not form the thoughts to remember what is was. In a place of no direction, he willed himself towards it, the beat becoming an axis on which to center. The void began to take shape, the Nothingness bumping up against Something.

From the space that had become backwards, there came a prick of light, shining not outwards into the void, but opening back into another Something. It was as thin as a single thread, but in the Place Where There Was Nothing, its existence was enormous.

It was Unknown. Silent. The energy that-was-but-wasn’t Ben turned from the noise and drifted towards it, the sound falling away as the light, or rather the hole in the Nothing, pulled him towards it. The sound faded further, becoming a staggering whisper, then gone.

And Ben felt alone.

His energy recoiled, crashing backwards through the void. The sound rushed back, exploding across the Nothing like  a shot. The Nothing narrowed, constricting as the Something pushed it in from all sides. Ben focused on the sound, anchoring himself to the thrum. Behind him, the Unknown closed. Ben ignored it. The sound was all consuming now, vibrating through his energy, trying to ignite it with Life but the flame wouldn’t catch. Reaching out, Ben grabbed the sound, _the heartbeat,_ he was able to think, and pulled.

Light exploded around him as Ben compressed into a form that something in him seemed to remember, while the sudden presence of the Something overwhelmed him with its size. He wasn’t sure if he opened his eyes or if they had only just formed.

When the universe materialized, he was standing in an alleyway, much like the one he had left behind some incomprehensible time ago. The narrow strip of sky that showed from the towering buildings above was the soft grey of early morning, that fragmented window of time when the world was still and quiet. Ben could feel the weight of Existence around him, but it was as if a film of Nothing still covered him, leaving a barrier thinner than skin between him and the world.

The sound that had called him began to fade, and for a moment in the quiet morning, Ben was afraid that he was lost again. A single call of a bird broke the air and the sound of Life came rushing back, soft by any human’s standards, but compared to the Nothing it was all-encompassing, and Ben yearned to be a part of it so much he thought his heart would break.

A rustling sound drew his attention and Ben turned. A lump of trash began to move, shifting in a way that could not be explained by the wind. As Ben stared, a hand emerged, boney and pale underneath a layer a grime, pushing the crumpled newspaper to the side. An arm and then a torso followed, and Ben found himself staring at his brother for the first time in almost a year.

Klaus groaned, blinking painfully in the dim light. “Oh fuck,” he muttered, moving his head to one side. The _crack_ of his neck made Ben jump, and Klaus’ attention snapped to him, his eyes going wide as he slammed his back against the building behind him, one arm going up as if to deflect a blow.

Ben froze, his wide eyes a mirror of Klaus’ own as the two stared at each other. Klaus was the first to react. He deflated, his arm lowering with the threat of danger no longer present. “Jesus, Ben,” he said, rubbing his eyes blearily with one hand, “you scared the crap out of me.”

Ben still did not move, unable to process what had just happened to him, much less to tell Klaus the truth.

“Funny running into you here,” Klaus continued, gesturing vaguely to the dingy alley around him. “Not that I am usually here,” he added quickly, looking away nervously. “That’s why it’s so funny, you see. Because usually I’m at my apartment, that I have by the way, it’s been too long since we’ve talked, got a lot of catching up to do. Anyway, like I was saying. It’s funny seeing you here, because—”

“Hey! Looney!” A gruff voice interrupted from the end of the alleyway. “Stop talking to yourself and get off my property! Damn junkies,” he muttered, digging through his pocket for his phone. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get your druggie ass out of here before I call the cops! Ten, nine, eight—”

Ben snapped his attention back to Klaus, who was staring at him in horror, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “No, no, no, no, no,” he pleaded, crawling backwards until his back pressed up against the dumpster. Klaus’ eyes had fallen to his stomach, where his open jacket and hoodie draped around the deep gash that still glistened dully with blood.

Klaus continued his frantic pleading, drawing his knees up to his chest and bringing his hands to cover his ears. He began to rock back and forth slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he begged, “Nononononono-”

“Klaus,” Ben tried to plead with him, “Klaus, stop. Please. It's ok. You're ok,” he begged but Klaus didn't react. He was staring at Ben unseeing, his mind locked somewhere Ben couldn't reach. Behind him, the man was shouting something down his phone but Ben wasn't paying attention to what he was saying.

He knelt down in front of allay, watching as his brother fell to pieces before him. “Klaus, please calm down,” he begged, reaching out to pull his hands away from where they tore into his hair and clawed at his skull. But Ben’s hands passed through Klaus’ arms and his screams broke in new anguish. Ben could only stare helplessly, watching Klaus cry and wishing he could.

Klaus had gone quiet by the time the cops arrive, his tears falling silently as he dug so deeply into his scalp with his nails he drew blood. Ben is barely conscious of them, hearing only the muttering of their voices until one of them reached his hands though Ben’s chest to grab Klaus’s hands. He was torn between the shock and horror of his non-existence and jealousy that some strange man could do what Ben wanted to most— touch his brother. Klaus’ screams began anew as the cops attempted to restrain him, flailing wildly in their grasp. His voice was hoarse, slowly giving out as the paramedics rushed up behind them. Ben, still staring at Klaus in an almost trace-like state, heard them saying something about “bad trip” as they passed unseeingly through him to reach Klaus.

He watched in horror as Klaus went limp, his shout mixing with that of the paramedics as they kicked into high gear, yelling back at their team as they strapped the barely conscious Klaus to a stretcher and rushed him back to the ambulance. Ben ran after them, staggering as his form began to flicker. His head swam like he’d stood up too quickly. The world was blinking in and out of existence. Feeling ill, Ben caught up to the paramedics as they loaded Klaus into the back of the ambulance and followed them inside.

The back was crowded with people and equipment, and Ben was passed through dozens of times as the first responders passed instruments to each other and performed tests on Klaus. He barely noticed, staring at the reck that was laid out in front of him.

As the paramedics stripped back his shirt, Ben could see the sorry bony state of Klaus’ chest. The way his ribs seemed to distort with each breath would have repulsed Ben if he were not so relieved to see proof Klaus was alive, and he clung to his brother’s life with the same desperation as he had his own. And, Ben realized dimly, the two were now very much the same; for as far as Ben could tell, Klaus held the key to escaping the Nothing. Without him, there was no way back to the world.

Ben felt himself flicker as Klaus’ eyes rolled around in the back of his head. The paramedics were still scrambling, trying to figure out what was happening. One of them peeled back an eyelid, shining a light at his pupils before reaching for a stethoscope. Another went through his pockets, turning out empty baggies and one with a small pill inside.

“Oxy,” she clarified, frowning tightly. “Naloxone?” she asked, reaching for a box.

“Wait,” her coworker who was listening to Klaus’ heartbeat held up a hand, “His pulse is fine. A little off, but not in the danger zone. And his pupils look normal.” They were quiet for a moment before he continued, “I don’t think this was an overdose. He seems...sober.”

“Schizophrenic break?”

“Maybe, something mental I think.” The paramedic signed and sat back, putting his stethoscope around his neck. “He passed out from exhaustion. He’ll come around soon. Secure him won’t you?” he asked the woman as he went to inform the driver.

Shaking her head slightly, she gently strapped Klaus’ arms down, keeping an eye on the monitors as she did so. “I can’t stand how many mentally ill people are on the street,” she said as her team member sat down next to her.

“I know,” he whispered, sounding extremely tired.

“And he’s so _young_.”

“I know.”

 

***

When Klaus woke up in the psychiatric ward a few hours later, Ben was the only one at his side. Shifting his sweatshirt to cover the mess of his stomach, Ben hesitantly moved into Klaus’ line of sight. They looked at each other for a long quiet moment before Klaus whispered, “Ben.”

“I’m sorry,” he started before Klaus cut him off.

“No,” his eyes looked watery as he stared up at Ben, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t there and then when you needed me—”

“It’s ok,” Ben said, even though nothing was ever going to be ok again. “It’s ok.” He tried to reach out his hand but remembered before he passed through Klaus, letting his hand fall down on the bed next to him. Klaus stared down at their hands, inches apart, like all he wanted to do was close the space.

 

***

As it turns out, having a doctor walk in on what appears to be you talking to yourself is not a good way to convince hospital staff that you do not need to be committed, thank you very much. Ben had just enough time to be seriously concerned before a paper cup of pills was passed to his brother and the world slid out of focus.

 

***

It took a few days, but the staff eventually managed to identify Klaus and placed a call to his emergency contact. In Ben’s opinion, it was the only time Reginald Hargreeves saved anyone.

 

****

Through all of the terrible things that Klaus experienced over the years, Ben witness most of them; or at least was able to piece together most of what he missed when Klaus was high and the rhythm of his heartbeat was disturbed by drugs or alcohol, making it impossible for Ben to find him. What happened in the hospital was one of the few things that Ben knew nothing about, and his suspicion was that this was not because Klaus was too drugged to remember it himself, like he claimed was the case.

In the days and weeks that followed, back in the room and house that Klaus had left behind almost a year and a half before, Ben sat watch as his brother stared into space. Though he knew he was able to travel some distance away from Klaus, Ben had no urge to leave his one tether, not even to return to his own room, or to see the others that had all come back from the fledgling steps that they had made away from the Academy. He wondered briefly if he should be honored that Allison flew back on account of him; or, he noticed as he watched the figure come up the street and turn somewhat hesitant through their gate, that Diego would willing walk back through the door he had so purposefully slammed behind him. But thinking about such things was too painful, and, sourly, Ben remembered that they hadn’t been so present when he had left the Academy himself. That he had been alone in that alley when—

Ben didn't let himself think about it. It was much easier to worry about Klaus. He returned to the bedside to watch his self-given charge.

 

***

They watched the funeral from an open window above the courtyard.  Being a few stories up, it didn’t seem like anyone noticed they were there, but they could still hear Reginald’s overly formal and impersonal eulogy. He said a lot about duty and honor and very little about Ben.

“I’m sorry,” Klaus said, not looking at him.

“You didn’t kill me,” Ben replied, staring down at the statue that looked nothing like him, shiny and polished in the seemingly inappropriate sunshine.

“I didn’t stop the people who did.”

Ben closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. He opened them. “You weren’t there.” Almost at once he regretted his words. It was an accusation he hadn’t meant to make, not then at least.

“I know.”

They were quiet again as Reginald finished speaking. He turned to Luther and said something that Ben didn’t hear but appeared to piss Diego off. As One and Two began to rehash their old familiar argument, now featuring who failed Ben first and most, the subject of their fight turned from the window, his presence completely unknown.

“Let’s go.”

Klaus nodded, turning way too as Diego punched Luther.  

For the second time, no one noticed that they left.

 

***

In time, Ben became about as used to being dead as one could get, but if given the choice he would have much rather been alive. Of course, there was the expected things he missed like eating, or sleeping, or not having an enormous gash in his stomach. But there were things he had never considered— like how he was unable to touch people, or absolutely anything at all.

True, the air around him existed, but it didn’t seem like it could come between him and the layer of Nothing that still clung to him in a thin but unbreakable film. For lack of a better name, Ben had dubbed it ectoplasm, which delighted Klaus more than was probably appropriate.

To be a ghost was to be both part of the world and completely removed from it, except for interaction with Klaus. It was like Ben had not quite returned to the plain of existence that life inhabited, but was standing just next to it, somewhere on the edge of Nothing.

 

The reminders of his situation were constant and unending. Ben was sure he had never noticed life so much when he was alive. On a windy day, Ben could see a flag moving in the wind, but he couldn’t feel it tug against his hair. The sun could be bright against his eyes, but it wasn’t warm. When it rained, he watched the droplets collect against his skin that could not get wet. All of this he reported to Klaus, who, having had little chance to actually speak to a ghost before, was interested in learning what it was like. Or at least he was interested on good days— that is, when the world was quiet and he didn’t feel such a burning need for something to make it all go away.

***

“But you’re sitting. Can’t you feel the chair?” Klaus had asked once, a few months after Ben had died. They were staying with one of Klaus’ friends, who Ben thought was much too old to be ‘friends’ with a sixteen-year-old and who Klaus thought was none of Ben’s business. He was out at the moment and Klaus was attempting to use the stove, Ben watching somewhat nervously from the table.

Ben thought for a moment, replying, “I can feel it around me, but I can’t feel it touching me.”

Klaus nodded slowly, looking way, “I see.”

They both knew he couldn’t really understand, but Ben appreciated the gesture of understanding, even if it wasn’t real. Sensing a moment of vulnerability, Ben took a moment to collect himself. “Klaus,” he started gently, attempting for the second time to ask Klaus what had happened the night before that left him wincing from injuries that Ben couldn’t see, and eyes that seemed too wet and glassy to be from anything he usually took. But Klaus cut him off before he could ask.

“I give up!” Klaus shouted, tossing the dented pan aside in a dramatic clatter.  “This stove is taking so long to ignite that if I let it go any longer we’ll— I’ll get carbon monoxide poisoning. I’m just going to buy something at the corner store.” Grabbing his coat, Klaus marched out the door, closing it quickly behind him. Of course, Ben was unfazed as he passed through it, catching up to Klaus quickly, who, when he saw Ben trailing behind him and looking very adamant that the conversation was Not Over added, “And a hit”.

Letting it go in hopes that Klaus would just stick to food, Ben fell in silently beside his brother, thinking that, for all his social pho pas, Klaus seemed to have a—  well, _seventh_ sense for when someone was about to try and talk about something serious with him.

 

***

Despite his best efforts, Ben wasn’t able to fully hide the mess of his stomach from view. Understandably, it was upsetting for both of them. He tired to do his best to ignore it, hoping childishly that if he didn’t acknowledge it, it might go away. Or at least, Klaus might forget it. But Klaus caught him staring at it too often in his reflection in passing windows for that hope to last.

They were seventeen, or rather Klaus was seventeen, when Klaus, unknowingly or not, exercised his powers for the first time since Reginald had forced him too. Ben was perched on the floor next to Klaus’ mattress, watching Klaus watch a spot on the wall, when his eyes suddenly focused and he slid his gaze over to Ben.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Ben signed, rather relieved to see some form of life out of him when he’d been nearly unresponsive for days.

Klaus was quiet for so long that Ben was starting to worry he’d drifted off again when he finally continued, “Thanks.”

Ben blinked. He hadn’t done anything. He couldn’t do anything.

“For what?”  
“For staying,” Klaus whispered and Ben felt suddenly horrendously guilty. It wasn’t for Klaus that he’d chosen to come back, or to stick around. “Klaus—” he started to admit before he was cut off.

“I know— I know you’re not just here for me but,” Klaus looked away blinking rapidly, “I’m just glad I’m not alone.”

“Me too,” Ben whispered and was unsure if he meant it about Klaus or himself. And, unable to do anything else, he stood. “Scoot over,” he told Klaus, making a shooing motion with his hand. Klaus scooted back and Ben laid down on the mattress next to him. They laid facing each other.

After a long minute Klaus gave a hard laugh, “Look at us,” he said, “what an absolute mess we are!”

Looking from the watercolor of Klaus’ skin and the dried out acrylic of his blood on the sheet, to the mess of his own stomach that dripped eternally, never staining anything, Ben wondered duly if Klaus meant physically or mentally. Both was probably most accurate. He look at Klaus who was still trembling, from drugs or cold or fear— Ben didn’t know, and felt suddenly exhausted. He was almost constantly changing his mind on what he missed most about living, but in that moment Ben wanted nothing more than the ability to fall asleep.

Picking up on Ben’s mood, Klaus’ weak smile died. “I’ll heal,” he reminded Ben quietly. He didn’t need to see the way Klaus’ eyes dropped to Ben’s stomach to hear the silent, _not like you._

“It doesn’t hurt,” Ben reminded him, echoing back the same soothing voice.

“Still,” Klaus tried to pull up his defensive flamboyance again, “house rules are that at least one of us has to look fabulous at all times. And seeing how I am— not up to the task at the moment, that great and serious honor falls to you, Ben.”

“I’ll do my best,” he told Klaus, who exhausted from expending any energy at all, had fallen asleep again.

 

Ben never slept, but over time he gotten better at not noticing his existence. It was almost like meditation, a way to exist in the Nothing without become lost himself, a coping mechanism for when his tether was lost, or at times like these, when Klaus was asleep and Ben was, in effect, nonexistent. It was at some point in this trance between consciousness and reality that Ben’s stomach knit itself back together, unnoticed.

It wasn’t until a while after Klaus woke again that they realized, and at first, only because the dark stains that soaked Ben’s clothing had vanished. Klaus noticed it first, cutting off in mid sentence, staring intently at Ben, who out of habit, looked behind him.

“Ben, undo your sweatshirt,” Klaus had said quietly, still staring intently at his stomach. Ben started to ask why, when he looked down and saw what Klaus did. With shaking hands, he slowly reached and undid his zipper. He paused a took a breath, slowly pulling back the fabric to reveal nothing but a plain t-shirt with not so much as a tear to reflect the carnage that had been a few hours before.

Their eyes met, each as shocked as the other. “Have you—” Ben started.

“No, never,” Klaus answered, his eyes wide.

“What did you do?”

“I don’t think I did anything. I just,” he shrugged, “I just wanted you to not be torn up anymore.”

“Maybe that’s part of your powers!” Ben started excitedly, “Maybe you can change the way ghosts look! Like, if you really want—”

“No,” Klaus said quietly, but firmly. “I’ve wanted ghosts to not be bloody before and it’s never done anything.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Ben guiltily fell silent.

“Maybe,” Klaus said, “you did it? Controlling the Horror was part of your powers.”

“Maybe,” Ben allowed, not reminding Klaus that what happened to his stomach was not on account of the Horror.

There was something unsettling about it and neither of them brought it up again for some time.

 

***

Two years later, Ben had the shocking realization that something about him had changed, again.

It was in a stint at rehab that Ben noticed it, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror and giving a shout of surprise, startling Klaus badly, who had been lying exhausted in his bunk, trying very hard to ignore the shaking and muttering man in the corner.

“What?’ he asked, bolting upright in panic.

“Klaus, do I look different to you?” Ben demanded urgently. Klaus gave him a very questioning look.

“Ben, you’re a ghost. By definition you don’t change.”

“I have before.”

Klaus stilled at the remainder. It was quiet for a moment before he seemed to collect himself and turn to look at Ben. He gave him a long look over, carefully considering before his eyes widened. He stood up quickly and walked over to Ben.

“You’re taller,” he breathed, staring directly into his brother’s eyes. Proportionally, their heights had stayed the same— which was why neither of them had noticed. But Klaus had quite clearly grown in the time since Ben had died, he had the unintentionally cropped pants to prove it. If he had truly stay stagnant, the ways ghosts were supposed to, Ben would have been at least half a head shorter than Klaus now.

“And my jaw,” Ben added turning back to the mirror, searching his reflection desperately, “it’s stronger. More defined. Don’t you think?”

“It is,” Klaus agreed, his wide eyes meeting Ben’s in the mirror.

“What, what does this mean?” Ben asked, excited and yet afraid for some inexplicable reason. Perhaps it’s just human nature to fear what is unknown.

“I don’t know,” Klaus admitted. “Ghosts aren’t supposed to change.”

“But here I am,” Ben said quietly, staring at himself more.

“Here you are.”

“Do you think,” Ben asked, feeling dumb but having to wonder just in case, “that this could mean I’m somehow, _not_ dead?”

Klaus’ silence told him what he already knew.

“But what other explanation is there?” Ben pleaded, unwilling to let his hope go yet.

“I don’t know, you’re different from any other ghost I’ve ever met.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s because I know you? Maybe that makes our connection stronger somehow?”

“Klaus, we need to explore this! Just think about what you could do! If you practiced—”

“I didn’t do any of this,” Klaus told him flatly. “My powers are to see the dead, not influence them. If I had control over ghosts I would have made them all look whole and silent a long time ago. You must be the one doing it, Ben.”

Ben didn’t feel like that sounded right, he didn’t remember doing anything to change himself— other than wish he still could. _If ghosts could control their appearance, why wouldn’t anyone else’s ghost heal themselves? Or was it because most ghosts were created out of a traumatic death? And they needed to heal mentally in order to heal physically?_ He shook his head. Nothing was making sense.

Ben stayed lost in thought for the rest of their time in rehab, allowing Klaus time to process what was happening, and for the sake of not getting his brother locked up again if someone caught him talking to himself. Resolving to bring it up again when they were released, Ben held his tongue until they were walking down the street, a shiny thirty-day chip in Klaus’ pocket. He was mulling over how to bring it up when he realized what neighborhood they were in.

“Klaus!” he started, indigent. His brother ignored him ploughing ahead down the increasingly dirty streets. “Come on! You _just_ spent thirty days clean.”

“All the more reason to have a good time now,” Klaus responded, not looking at him as he turned sharply down an alley.

“Klaus!”

Ben was ignored as the money quickly changed hands and Klaus moved barely more than a block away before stepping into another alley, not sparing so much as a glance for the trash and filth that surrounded him as he crushed the pills and snorted them off the nearest flat surface he could find, which happened to be the rim of a dumpster. As Klaus’ heart began to race, Ben found the scene swarm and spin around him as his anchor was pulled away.

When they came to, crumpled in a heap among the trash some unknown hours later, Ben decided for the sake of Klaus’ health not to bring it up again.

 

***

Eventually, even as Ben continued to seemingly age with the passage of time, and as his body remained whole and undamaged, Ben stopped noticing the strangeness of it, having more to be concerned about with the immediate survival of Klaus. The whole thing had almost been forgotten entirely when, in a moment of absolute desperation, Ben punched Klaus hard across the face, and everything changed again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you <3.  
> I hope this is not terrible.
> 
> But if it is please tell me so I can get better.  
> (Of course feel free to tell me I'm awesome too)


End file.
